If You Only Knew
by ElizabethPierce
Summary: Harry's not the only one with scars. Ginny/Harry with Neville friendship


"Ginny? Love, are you here?"

Harry had been home for twenty minutes but had yet to find his wayward fiancé. All of the lights in the flat they had been letting were off. Only the last few rays of sunlight before dusk illuminated the hallway through the windows.

Harry was starting get worried. Ginny had been enjoying her month leave from the Harpies since the season had just ended and training wouldn't begin for a bit. If she had gone somewhere like the Burrow to see Molly or The Leaky Cauldron to see Neville and Hannah, she would have sent him a Patronus. Or done the muggle thing and left a note.

By the time he reached their bedroom door at the end of the hallway, Harry had drawn his wand and was barely breathing so as to not let any sound go unnoticed. A soft glow from under the bathroom led him in that direction. Once he had crossed the threshold, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.

Ginny, small and curled in on herself, face buried in her knees, was sitting in stagnant bath water that had long gone cold. Dropping his wand on the counter, Harry rushed to crouch next to the tub.

"Gin?" he reached a hand out to brush freezing tendrils of auburn from her face, "What's the matter, love?"

She showed no sign of having heard him. She showed no sign of having felt him for that matter. She was perfectly still. The only movement was a slight ripple under her breasts every time she took a slow, deep breath. The temperature of the water alarmed Harry more than anything; it was so cold that she had to have been sitting in it for hours. "You're starting to scare me, Ginevra. Please. Look at me." Harry leaned harder on his knees as he stretched his arms around her, trying to bring some warmth to her.

He felt her still and then heave a mighty breath. She turned her head to face him, but kept it propped on her tented legs. Harry's chest clenched at the desolate look in her eyes. He let go of her for long enough to open the drain and grab a towel, but kept her in his line of sight at all times. He had never seen Ginny like this, never seen her anything less than exuberantly strong.

"Come on, love, let's get you dried off, yeah?" He wrapped the towel around her small body, steadying her when her footing seemed shaky. She used Harry's frame to steady her own when she stumbled over the edge of the tub. He tightened his hold around her shoulders and led her into their bedroom. Leaving her on the bed, he retrieved his wand from the bathroom and lit a fire in the fireplace in the corner of the room. A complicated flourish had Ginny dry in no time. He was bustling around, grabbing her clothes and such, so that he could be doing _something_. He didn't know what to do with this near catatonic Ginny. With a deep breath to steel himself, Harry turned to face her.

To his surprise, she was standing right behind him, arm out-stretched for the clothes he held and towel forgotten at the foot of the bed. She met his eyes and gave a thin smile. As she took the clothes from his hand, she murmured "Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to scare you. I must have lost track of time."

He wanted to protest. The woman he had found in the cold bath had not simply lost track of time, but she had already turned towards the fire and was slowly getting dressed before he could get the words out. Once fully clothed, she hesitated for just a moment, staring into the flames. When she turned, her eyes were alight with life once again, like always. Harry felt relief well in his throat. Maybe she _had_ just lost herself in time for a moment there.

Ginny had laughed with him, talked about her day and asked about his. They had eaten take away from down the street and she had cheekily stolen more than her fair share of chips. He had pretended not to notice. It had been like any other night.

Except when it wasn't. There were a few moments of silence that lasted a beat too long. Ginny had been her usual funny self with her anecdotes from the day. She had a knack for detail in her story telling that Harry envied. She never chose the wrong word or floundered with a delivery. He loved her relish for the littlest things in life and her ability to turn those into enjoyment. Knowing her as he did, there was a sentence tonight that was discordant with her typical antics. She had mentioned in passing that she had seen Pansy Parkinson in Diagon Alley. Normally, Ginny would cherish the opportunity to relay an encounter with an old school mate in minute detail. Minute details that would have Harry in stitches of laughter.

Which was why it was so strange. A single sentence, devoid of inflection and delivered only when she had her face hidden by a curtain of golden red hair. "I saw Pansy Parkinson in Diagon Alley."

With the next breathe, she was tossing her hair back and diving into a story about chasing an ambitious gnome from a cupboard in Molly and Arthur's kitchen where it had somehow taken up residence. If not for the odd events earlier in the evening, Harry doubted he would have noticed the irregularity.

Now, as he held Ginny in their bed, he was being kept awake by confusion with her behavior. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as she had collapsed into bed. He had been careful in rolling her slumbering form onto his chest, cradling her head to his chest. The sheets fell to her thighs and her sleep shirt, an old Canons jersey, rode up with the movement. Harry lay awake puzzling over the woman in his arms. He absentmindedly ran a hand in circles on her hip where her flesh had been exposed by her shirt falling away. For the first time, his fingers registered slight divots in her skin, little puckered lines running down her side. This surprised him since he was more than familiar with Ginny's body. They had been engaged for months and living together for longer than that. Something about the tactile sensation without the accompanying visual, without the fog of lust he usually was under when it came to Ginny's form, had allowed him to now absorb these details he had before overlooked.

Carefully, Harry laid Ginny's head back on the pillow and raised himself onto an elbow to examine the scars on her side. They were small, but long. The white lines blended into the creamy paleness of her skin, well camouflaged if one wasn't specifically looking for them. Not that that mattered. Harry was coming to the horrifying realization that because his own body was littered with scars from battles gone by that he had apparently become so desensitized he overlooked such scars on the woman he loved. He wondered what else he had missed when it came to Ginny.

Judging from tonight's events, he'd missed quite a lot.

A/N: This will most likely be a three chapter story (with Neville making an appearance!). I wanted a story about Harry helping Ginny with personal demons, since almost all the stories I found deal with Ginny helping Harry. This is unbetaed so please let me know of any mistakes. Review and say whatever you want, even if you hated it. Just let me know why you feel the hatred, you know?

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter world, JK Rowling owns everything (including my undying love and respect).


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